Preaching to the choir
by partypoison69
Summary: One shot for a writing competition. Slightly inspired by Requiem For A Dream. No characters or plots used.


"Well maybe it really is just my fault, then. Why don't you just leave me alone, like you always do, mum? We used to get along so well until you actually started to get interested in my life. I liked not mattering to you, it was easy," I said as I stared, crestfallen, at the floor. The corners of my mother's mouth twitching with fury, ready to burst forth another shower of verbal abuse. It didn't come.

"I wanted to protect you," she started, slowly and mumbling so I could only just hear her. This I had not expected, since when had she given a damn about protecting me? I could only wonder.

"You did a pretty bad job at that one for the past eighteen years, then. It doesn't matter now, anyway, because…" I paused. This was harder than I thought. If only she knew what was going through my head. I didn't want to come across as so negative, hurt and utterly enraged. Even though, that was exactly how I was feeling.

"I'm leaving, mum. Harry has offered me a room in his house and I accepted it. I'm moving in with him. It's fine, I'll get by. I really do not need you to get me through this. I've handled it perfectly for two years, now is not the time to preach. I'm out," with these final sentiments I grabbed my trunk and wrenched open the front door, stepping out into the cold, night air.

It had been four years. Four years, since I had escaped that wretched house of my junkie of a mother. Granted, I had joined in a few times and I wasn't proud of it either. But it had always helped to forget about everything as time passed by. All that was left, was Harry and I. Harry and I, we were inseparable.

He was always the one who had protected me, from everything and myself, whenever I felt the urge, he would finish the load himself. He made me promise, that if he would ever overdose, that I would never, ever, do the same. "We won't meet again in Heaven. Heaven is meant for those who have something to live for. We both don't, " he always said to me, if I ever had gone too far. I will remember his words to this day.

This very day, that I was walking up to my mother's godforsaken house that I had hoped never to see again. This very day, I realized that Harry was wrong. I did have something to live for. The minor drawback was, that who it was whom I lived for, had, ironically, overdosed the very night that I realised I was pregnant. My baby would never have known his father, if he or she had lived. I would never know what my baby could become, due to a unfortunate miscarriage that had been all my own fault.

"Good Lord, is that you? Oh my God, it is you," cried the old lady when she saw me trudging up the front lawn. The old lady, my own mother, stood perplexed with the door wide open, gaping at me. It was obvious she hadn't been expecting me.

"Mother, I really don't want to stay long. I just want to go upstairs for a bit," pushing her off me, abandoning all my sense of feeling of regret, letting nothing take over me. This is what I had come here to do. I ran up the stairs, tore open the bathroom door, ignoring the calls from my mother, hoping she wouldn't know what I was after. After all this time, I knew that my best friend, whom I had lost only a few months ago was my one and only desire that was left. All I wanted, all I ever wanted was to be reunited with him. I knew he would be waiting for me because he had loved me. I had loved him back with all my heart. Once he had passed away, I knew that I had only one more thing to live for. That thing was to be with him forever and that would only ever be possible if I left this world, too. This was my exact plan.

Everything I had done in this life, it had all gone disastrously wrong. The relationship with my mother, my addiction to cocaine, my other half gone, my only memory of him destroyed before it could be born. All I had left was to join him now before I faced anymore disappointment.

I wanted to go, here in this bathroom was the right place. The first time I had ever kissed Harry was in this bathroom. We were both fourteen and I had scratched my knee falling over while he chased me. He had bandaged me up and kissed my knee better. When we stood up, his eyes were directly opposite mine. His beautiful blues staring into my soul, taking my breath away. We shared our first kiss that day, in that bathroom. We sat on the bath mats the whole day playing battle ships and wrestling each other when we hit each other's boats.

One summer's day we were at the beach, playing in the sand, when a sharp side of a shell had wedged itself into my big toe. He had walked home, carrying me. I had felt as light as a feather in his arms, staring up into his eyes of sparkling blue. Once we had arrived at home, Harry immediately brought me up to the bathroom and cleaned up my foot. Once again, he had kissed it better. This time, he started kissing me more, further up my leg. He put his hand on the back of my head and leant me backwards. We had made love for the first time, that day.

All my memories in one room.

I reached for the door of the bathroom cabinet.


End file.
